The Adventures of the Twisted Men
by Mycake
Summary: A story from Sherlock and John's perspectives about mystery, romance, and a terrible secret that threatens to destroy everyone. It takes place after series 4 and remains as faithful as possible to the show. John is picking up the pieces of his life as a single father, while Sherlock is up to his same antics. They must come together to stop a new villain. It's a good bit of fun!
1. Chapter 1

"He framed… himself?"

Lestrade was confused. This was nothing out of the ordinary.

"Yes, haven't you been listening?" I grabbed the knife off the kitchen counter and demonstrated once more. I contorted my arm and bent at the knees, delivering an upward thrust. "Does this look lethal to you?"

"He could have been standing on his knees…"

"Standing on his knees on a step ladder?!" I asked, aghast.

"But his fingerprints…"

"He was the one to remove the knife from the victim's abdomen!" I exclaimed. "Then he hid the murder weapon so he could destroy it later."

"Why wouldn't he call an ambulance? The police? Why run if he wasn't guilty?" Lestrade asked, throwing his hands into the air in frustration.

"To throw us off the scent of the real murderer."

"What's he got to gain from being thrown in prison?"

This was the first good question he had posed all night. What was there to gain? The man had lost his wife, now was facing a life in prison, and for what? The public was still at risk from the murderer at large. A proven psychopath. He had to be brought to justice.

I stopped.

_Does he?_

A small voice inside of me tried to reason with myself. It sounded a lot like… John?

_Being labeled a "murderer" would last a lifetime and it would have a resounding effect on not only the person's social life but also their psyche._

"That's stupid," I said out loud.

"What's stupid?" Lestrade asked.

"Shut up," I told both voices.

_Maybe it wasn't on purpose._

"How do you accidentally stab someone to death?" I quieted Lestrade before he opened his mouth to speak.

_Haven't you done anything out of anger that you regretted?_

"Alright, shut up! I've made up my mind. It was the child."

"The nursery schooler?" Lestrade asked, dumbfounded.

"Yes. He's of the proper height and has the demeanor of a serial killer."

"He's barely five years old!" Lestrade argued.

"Oh come on! Look past your bias and see the true nature of the crime!"

Lestrade furrowed his brow and slumped in his chair.

"Just because you don't want to believe it, doesn't mean it's not true. Despite popular belief, that's not how police work works."

"It's not that…"

"It is and the sooner you accept it, the sooner you can return to your miserable life."

"Hey!" He shouted.

"Again, you're denying the truth!" I told him as I grabbed my coat.

"I'll have you know, I've started dating again."

"And you're miserable," I shrugged.

"So you're my therapist now?"

"Oh thank God I don't have the severe misfortune of being your therapist. How boring that would be."

"Glad I'm not yours either! You're a bloody psychopath!"

"I won't even waste my breath…" I sighed. "You haven't even bothered to shave."

"So?"

"You obviously have no one you're trying to impress. You have food stains on your collar which you can only get from eating in bed. Which is the only thing you've been doing in bed of late."

"Thanks."

"You haven't even been masturbating!"

"Whoa! Thank you! Goodbye!" He shouted, ushering me to the door.

"I could go on," I added.

"No need! Thank you!" He said, opening the door for me and pushing me outside into the frigid hall.

"You're welcome," I remarked as he slammed the door in my face and locked it with the deadbolt and the latch.

I checked my phone, it was 8:54; I wasn't expected home for another hour. I knocked on the door.

"Go away!" Lestrade yelled.

"You have me for another hour."

"Go for a sandwich or summat!"

"I'm not hungry!" I replied.

"Go exercise! Get some fresh air!"

"It's raining."

"Not my problem!"

"It will be if I'm left to my own devices!"

The deadbolt turned and he opened the door without unhooking the latch.

"Can't you bother anyone else?" he asked sorrowfully.

"Nope." I said, undoing the latch for him. "Let's play a game!"

"They don't pay me enough for this…" he mumbled.

"5 card draw, Aces wild, £100 max."

"No, I learned my lesson. We are never playing cards again."

"Chess?"

"Yeah right."

"I could tell you more about how frequently you pleasure…"

"Dominoes! We'll play bloody dominoes."

"I've never played," I admitted.

"I'll teach you," he said, grabbing the set from the bookcase.

We sat on the sofa, beside one another, while he set things up. He started explaining the rules and ten minutes into the thick of it, I was incredibly _bored_.

"So this is what it's like," I said. "Being old."

"Shut up, it's your turn."

I grabbed domino after domino, none appeared to match. Lestrade was not so secretly pleased.

"I give up!" I said, throwing the dominoes back into their stupid _"boneyard"_. Lestrade was grinning like the cat that ate the canary. "Do you have any cold cases? Anything?"

"Not at home with me."

"From memory? God… what am I saying? Of course not from your memory. You're barely smarter than your goldfish."

"It's a koi and you're just sore that I won."

"In a game of chance," I added.

He leaned back on the sofa, rather proud of himself. I felt like punching him in the throat. He pulled his mobile out of his pocket and began typing.

"Who are you telling?"

"Just the lads at the Yard… Mrs. Hudson… John," he teased.

"Give me that," I nabbed the phone from his sweaty fingertips. I browsed through his message history. "Oh so you have been chatting with someone!"

"Oi," he frantically reached out for his phone. I pushed him away while I read the graphic details.

"I'm impressed!" I laughed. "Such colorful language! The guided imagery!"

We began to wrestle on the sofa; I kept him at bay with my long legs. I couldn't possibly peel myself away from the fascinating look into Lestrade's most intimate thoughts.

"Sherlock, give it back!" he was really worried.

"Like I didn't already know."

"I'm serious!"

"I must know who it is!"

He punched me… square in the stomach. He knocked the wind out of me. I was in such shock that I dropped the phone.

"I'm so sorry," he apologized as he gathered his precious evidence.

I let out a wheeze. He was stronger than he looked. I curled into a ball to ease the pain.

My mind narrowed in on the details. Of course he hadn't saved their contact information to keep it a secret. I ran through the index of phone numbers of friends… relatives… it must be someone close to me. It wasn't a long list!

The digits didn't match.

"Who?" I groaned.

"No, now forget you even saw anything!"

I was never going to forget. I would find out who, even if it killed me.


	2. Chapter 2

Sherlock was in a mood. Wasn't he always? He was grossly attached to his laptop, searching up God knows what. Just as long as it wasn't _my _computer and he wasn't alerting MI5…

"Sherlock," I reminded him of my presence.

"Not now," he growled like a feral kitten. He typed so fiercely I'm surprised the computer still had all its keys. He's so vicious with his belongings it's a wonder anything functioned in the flat. He's broken six tables. Stepping on them, chucking them, putting flaming hot metal through them…

"Arg!" He shouted, flinging the computer across the room.

"Sherlock!" I tried scolding him but he started pulling at his hair and rocking back and forth. "What's the matter?"

"Three days!" He shouted, his hands shaking. His feet pounded on the floor as he rocked. "It's taken me three day and I have nothing to show for it!" He stomped angrily.

"You're going to cause Mrs. Hudson's light shades to fall off… again," I grabbed him by the hands and squeezed tightly.

"How? How!" He crushed my hands with his vice grip. I winced. "There's no trace! There can't be no trace! Unless…"

He stopped suddenly, letting go of my hands. He brought his palms together and rested his fingertips under his chin in his classical thinking pose. He stared off into space. I was glad I was giving up my Sunday to watch the mastermind toil over seemingly superfluous information.

I hoovered about him, dusted the bookshelves, and washed some dishes. Then I turned on the tele and we watched some documentary about birds in Africa. I had a conversation with myself to pass the time. In seven hours he hadn't budged. I even tried getting some food in him but his gaze was fixed, his mouth unopened.

He looked worried which had me worried.

"Should I phone Lestrade? Your brother?"

"Lestrade," he repeated in a monotone. "Mycroft" his face curled into a look of pure disgust. He retched. I grabbed the bin just in case.

"What is it?" I asked. Patting his back as he continued to dry heave.

"No," was all he could say, though he did say it repeatedly. I'd never seen him in such a state. He was coughing and gagging but nothing was coming up.

"There, there," I consoled. Was it something I said? I'd only just mentioned Greg and Mycroft. I wondered what had him so worked up.

The retching ceased and Sherlock slumped over, his head in the bin.

"Kill me," he moaned loudly.

"It can't be that bad," I said, unknowingly.

"Uhhhhh," He wailed into the bin. He started bashing his head into the side of it.

"Stop!" I tore the bin away from him but he grabbed a heavy book instead. "You're being ridiculous!"

"No, no, no!" He cried as he smacked himself in the face, over and over. I did my best to mitigate the damage but he was persistent. Eventually he threw himself to the floor and continued to throw a tantrum.

"That's it, I'm calling Lestrade!"

"Don't!" He said clearly, stopping his fit for a moment.

"Why not?" I asked, already phoning him on speed dial.

"Please," he begged.

I canceled the call and looked down at the puddle of a mess Sherlock had become.

"Is it… Lestrade?" I asked.

Sherlock nodded slowly.

"And your brother?"

Sherlock closed his eyes and gulped. He sighed dramatically and signed a "Yes."

"What are they, shagging or summat?"

"Oh God!" He bellowed as he curled into a ball and held his head in his hands.

"Oh come on! No they're not!" I laughed. "Hey!" I tapped Sherlock with my foot. "There's no way."

"I saw!"

"You what?" I stopped poking him.

He sat up, took a big breath, and let it seethe out of him with a hiss. "_The messagesssss_."

"Oh… well… that's good. I mean… not good but at least you didn't, you know, _see _it."

"Oh, what's the difference?" He cried. He held his head in his hands once again as he rocked back and forth. "I can't _unsee _them."

"They can't have been _that_ bad."

Sherlock wailed into his palms.

"That bad, eh?" I thought to myself about what they could have possibly said to one another. Mycroft with his uptight aristocratic nature and Greg with his cockney accent. How did that go?

_Mycroft: Bugger me_

_Greg: Oi_

I couldn't help but laugh.

"It's not funny!" Sherlock insisted.

"But it is though. I mean, come on," I chuckled. "What an unlikely pair."

"How could this happen!"

"I don't know… Greg is a handsome chap and your brother is… well… your brother," I reasoned. "Gee, you'd think he'd do better. Lestrade, that is."

"What could be better than fucking the British Government!?"

I bit my tongue and honest to God tried my best not to laugh. Sherlock was not having it.

"I'm going to kill him!" He screamed.

"I wouldn't declare that about a police officer or your brother," I reminded him.

"After I burn my eyes out," he said, clawing at his face.

"It's not that bad!"

"What on Earth is your definition of _that bad!? _This, in fact, is the worst thing imaginable! Lestrade and Mycroft going eh, ehhhhh!" He made grotesque gestures with his hands and hips.

"I mean, if they're happy!"

"No!" Sherlock protested. He got up and stormed throughout the flat, finding things to angrily dishevel and make as much noise as possible.

"Yoo-hoo!" came the sound of a nosey little landlord. "Normally I wouldn't interrupt…" Yes she would.

"Don't mind him. He's just…" I spun my wrist round but couldn't come up with the words.

"Oh Sherlock," she cooed, picking up the pieces.

"Fine way to spend a Sunday," I said to nobody in particular.

I left before the epic conclusion, but who could blame me? There's only so much drama I can stand.


	3. Chapter 3

_Just because you don't want to believe it, doesn't mean it's not true._

My words haunted me. I remained inside, locked away for days, unable to come to terms with it.

What was there to gain?

_If they're happy!_

"Kill me, _now_."

I wrapped the blanket around me tighter, forming a cocoon from which I never planned to emerge.

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson fussed as she tried to get me to drink yet another cup of tea.

"This is it! I'm done!" I exclaimed.

"Just have one digestive, please!"

"No, I'm put off food. I can't possibly eat a single bite."

"You poor thing; you must be starving!" She kept edging the tea and biscuits closer.

"Leave me alone to die in peace," I pleaded.

"How about I read you a nice murder that I saw in this morning's paper! Double homicide!"

"Don't try and cheer me up."

"No sign of forced entry, no struggle, but both found dead in the same bed. Appeared to be murdered in their sleep."

I sighed. "Suffocation?"

"Axe to the head!" She said cheerfully.

I removed the covers from my ears and popped my head out of the blankets. "An axe?"

"A very violent death."

"Hmmm," I hummed. "I think not!" I sprang up out of bed, throwing off the covers.

"Where are you going?" Mrs. Hudson asked as I made my way out the door.

"Don't wait up for me!"

"Sherlock! You ought to shower! Perhaps change?"

My feet were already hitting the pavement before i realised I had forgotten to put on shoes. Nevertheless, the case was afoot!


	4. Chapter 4

I got the call round midnight to come have a look at some crime scene in Crawley. I hadn't had a wink of sleep but I obliged, because why not? I arrived at 1:30, having made good time. If only traffic could always be so clear.

A very tired looking detective greeted me. He reminded me it was beyond after hours and that my friend was a madman.

"I know, thanks for letting him do his thing."

"Just as long as _his thing _holds up in court," Detective Inspector Gregson warned.

"It will, it always does."

I walked into the brownstone abode to find a mobile laboratory and box lights illuminating Sherlock and Molly Hooper.

"Oh," I said, not expecting to see Molly. Sherlock was swirling some reagent and inspecting the bottom of a small vial.

"Come on," he coaxed.

"Sherlock wants you to see their skin," Molly said, stepping away from the lab equipment to show me up the stairs.

At the top of the stairs, a young chipper constable stood guard in the room, not looking at the two victims that lay in bed next to one another.

From first inspection, it was clear something was amiss, other than the victims' faces having been bludgeoned with an axe. They were otherwise laying perfectly under the sheets as if they weren't disturbed by one another being murdered. I noted the petechiae on their hands and forearms. That wasn't what Sherlock was alluding to…

"Ever seen anything like it?" The constable asked, still not looking at the alien-looking bodies. He was obviously disturbed by the corpses appearances. I was a bit disturbed myself.

"As a matter of fact… in school."

I had only read about a patient turning such a vibrant shade of green. It was a result of multiple organ failure and blue food dye. The cause of the hypochromic anemia in this case was uncertain.

What was clear was that these victims were dead before they had been killed.


	5. Chapter 5

"Blue dye?" I repeated with a smile. That was it! Case solved.

"Made the patient's skin the same green hue."

"I knew I kept you around for good reason!" I told him.

"Alright it's literally three in the morning, I would like I bit more praise for remembering all that."

"Good boy," I said, patting him on the head. "Paraquat."

"Parawhat?"

"Paraquat, an herbicide that causes multiple organ failure and comes in… wait for it… a blue liquid!"

"Great… can we go now?"

"Not so fast. You may ask, where can I get Paraquat? Isn't it banned in Britain?"

"I honestly…"

"Well to that I'd say, only if you have access to the factory in Huddersfield."

"Sherlock, I'm tired."

"But wait! There's more! It just so happens that a retired factory worker with Parkinson's and a bad heroin addiction, who wouldn't think twice about chopping two drug dealers' faces off after poisoning them in their own home, lives two short blocks from here!"

"Alright, you're paying for the hotel room." He yawned.

"You're no fun," I told him as I got into the back of his car.

"I'm not a cab," he said, motioning to the front of the vehicle.

"I prefer to spread out."

I could see him roll his eyes through the rear view mirror. I texted Gregson the final word and powered down my mobile for the evening. I closed my eyes and blissfully drifted away into a peaceful slumber before being rudely awakened by John. He insisted we sleep in a sleazy squeezy hotel room instead of the comfort of his car.

Needless to say, It wasn't an easy transition to a shared bed. I hadn't brought my wallet and John wasn't about to pay extra. The sheets reeked of detergent which couldn't entirely mask the odour of other people.

"We couldn't drive 90 minutes. We had to stop," I sighed.

"Sherlock… I'm about to take an axe to your face."

"Would you like to know why a homeless man from Huddersfield would chop off their faces?"

"To hide their swollen lips so the police wouldn't think that they'd been poisoned. Now shut up and go to sleep."

"Spoilsport." I turned over and pulled the comforter closer. John tugged back at the blanket. This continued for four hours.


	6. Chapter 6

I woke up to Sherlock snoring loudly, mouth wide open, with the covers still clutched in his grubby little paws. I was gross and sweaty so I headed in for a shower. I lathered up with the finest hotel soap and it felt nice to feel clean… until I had to put on the same pants from the night before.

I decided to enjoy some free breakfast that I had paid for. Knowing full well Sherlock wouldn't join me, I asked, "Coming down for breakfast?"

He groaned and rolled over, taking up the rest of the bed.

"Alright, princess, suit yourself."

And who should I run into downstairs but Molly Hooper. She was thumbing through her phone and eating a pastry with her coffee. I fixed a cup and thought I'd join her.

"Oh so… did you and Sherlock?" She asked awkwardly.

"We shared a bed- I mean a room… a b-bedroom," I stammered.

"How is he?"

"Fine. Asleep."

"Good."

She sipped her coffee; I sipped my tea. We sat… awkwardly.

"So," I said.

"So," she said.

"How about that Parawhasit…"

"Is Greg gay?"

I spit out my tea. "What? No."

"I mean, bisexual. Though he could still be… gay. Maybe his wife was just a… I'll shut up now."

"He's… _s_t_r_a_i_g_h_t…" I sounded like I was on a rollercoaster when I said it and was rather unconvincing. "Why-why would… Why would he be otherwise?" I smiled, then wiped the smile from my face because it looked odd.

"Oh, because he's dating... a man."

"Did Sherlock tell you?"

"No!" Molly acted very surprised.

"Wait, What?! I'm sorry."

"I shouldn't have said anything," she got up to leave.

I placed my hand on her wrist, "Wait, we should talk. Away from Sherlock." Yeah admittedly that was an incredibly creepy thing to say and do.

"I can't, I've said too much. I can't believe I've done this…" she was obviously flustered.

"Who told you?"

"Nobody… I was just out and I saw him…"

"With Mycroft," I added.

"Mycroft?"

"Red hair," I pointed to my hair. "What's left of it anyways."

"I'm sorry," she looked confused. "Look, I've said too much, I've got to go."

She scampered away and I was left alone with my thoughts.

_Either he gets around or our dear Lestrade has some explaining to do._


	7. Chapter 7

"Just ask him!" John advised.

"He hit me! It has to be Mycroft!"

"Ask Molly."

"You've scared her off!"

"How was I supposed to know!" John shouted.

"There's only one way…"

"We're not stalking anyone!"

"I'm not suggesting we _stalk _him. We'll just… observe him from a distance."

"I.e. stalk," John said, folding his arms and giving me a stern look.

"Oh come now, aren't you the least bit curious?"

"Well yeah, but…"

"Yeah but!" I repeated.

"It is wrong, it is stalking. Stalking a member of Scotland Yard. For what? To find out his _sex life."_

"He _hit _me," I reminded him. "If anything it's penance."

"You're completely mad."

"I have to know."

"You don't! You could be blissfully ignorant like the rest of us!"

"My brain will eat itself alive until I solve the mystery."

"Then solve it."

"Yes," I said with satisfaction.

"Without breaking the law."

"No," I said with disappointment.

"Or Greg's trust."

"Maybe," I said with ambivalence. "Come on! It'll be fun! Just like old times!"

"I… I have nothing to say," he sighed heavily.

"Say, yes!"

"We've done stranger things…"

"That's as good as a yes!"

I dragged him to the car and discussed our stake-out technique as we drove home.

"Easiest thing to do is to observe him at home. There's a vantage point in the adjacent building from the rooftop," I planned.

"I'm not sitting on some roof for God knows how long waiting for Greg to get a booty call."

"We'd be laying on the roof," I corrected.

"No," John argued. "Why can't we tap his phone and track his GPS?"

"John, that's brilliant!"

"No… that's bad; that's very bad."

"I'd need you to get access to his mobile…"

"I'm not saying that you should but can't you… I don't know, hack it remotely?"

"It's simple, you would just need to install an app," I told him.

"Simple for you is laying on a roof for hours watching grown men… fuck."

"We're not going to watch _that."_

"Might as well."

"John! Be decent!" I smacked him for good measure. "And pay attention to the road."

"Ow, quit distracting me and relax for once."

I couldn't possibly relax knowing what we had in store.


	8. Chapter 8

Sherlock is impossible. One moment he's bashing his head against the wall because he _thinks _his auxiliary best friend is shagging his brother, the next he's trying to get in the man's bedroom to see what he's up to. On principle, I should absolutely refuse to be a part of it, but God damnit all, I'm curious.

He's right. Greg won't tell us and Molly won't budge, so besides asking Mycroft to investigate, I don't know what else to do.

_Why would he hit Sherlock if it wasn't someone important? Who could that possibly be?_

We know that the suspect is male, doesn't have red hair, uses an unregistered phone number, and is well known to Sherlock and/or the relationship between them could be damaging to Greg's reputation. Which doesn't narrow it down as much as it should.

Apparently Greg's conversation was very one-sided and (while graphic) didn't provide any details to where they were meeting; just that they were meeting on a Thursday.

"He's not going to give up his phone easily; not after you went on your little trip through his private messages," I told Sherlock.

"Then we'll plant a wire."

"I don't want this coming back to me. No hard evidence!" I told him again.

"We could tape a microphone to his chest and he'd remain oblivious… Besides, he _trusts_ you."

"He'll never trust us again if I microchip him."

"That's assuming he'd find out. I don't plan to blackmail him. He'll never know that we know," he assured me.

"We could just wait… until he's ready to make things public."

"How long might that take? Years? It's taken him this long to even sort of admit to dating other men."

"If Molly Hooper saw them together they must have been out in the open!"

"It's as if he wants to be found out!"

"That's not…" I rubbed my forehead. "That's not what that means."

"He's become more careless. This must have been going on for some time to be so complacent."

"I'm surprised he didn't do more damage control with Molly… unless he doesn't know that she saw them."

"It is odd that she would mention it…" he remarked.

"Well… she is odd."

Sherlock agreed. "And for her to be _out _to witness the affair would mean she too was with someone."

"Maybe that's why she was so secretive? She obviously doesn't want you to know about it."

"Is everyone getting together behind my back?! How could I not see this happening!?"

"Relationships… not really your forte," I shrugged.

"I suppose not but that's no excuse for being so blind."

"I've got a new medical assistant and you haven't asked me about her!"

"John, why would I ever possibly care about _that?" _He asked, very cross.

"See, you're just not all that invested in people's social lives."

"Not when it doesn't affect me personally, no."

"Maybe it wouldn't be so personal if you didn't like Greg."

"I don't _like _Lestrade," he was quick to correct.

"Why should it matter who he dates?"

"It just does! Ok?"

"Perhaps it's even someone insignificant," I suggested.

Sherlock was becoming agitated but I pressed on.

"Maybe he knows what great lengths you'll go to to harass the person he's dating."

"Shut up," Sherlock interjected.

I was onto something.

"You were distraught for days on end knowing that he was possibly dating someone close to you. You couldn't possibly bear the thought that he was interested in _him_ and not _you_."

Sherlock had heard enough, "Fine! I'll figure it out without you!"

He left to his room and slammed the door like a petulant child. Was Greg aware of Sherlock's feelings towards him? He must have been.


	9. Chapter 9

_Perhaps it's even someone insignificant._

What an insult! It couldn't possibly be. Why else would he tell me that he was dating without allowing me to know who?

_Why would he tell you he was dating in the first place? _

He was miserable! He had to be. If he didn't want me to know, he wouldn't have told me.

_He wants you to be jealous._

I could still feel the sting of his punch. John's accusations hurt that much more. I wouldn't harass Lestrade's partner. I wasn't that petty.

_Why couldn't he trust you?_

There was no point in gaining his trust. I didn't need him. I had Gregson. I would just see him instead. If only he wasn't in Sussex.

_You could move!_

Away from Baker Street?

_You could keep bees!_

My inner-John had lost touch with reality. I wouldn't thrive without the chaotic energy of London fueling my veins.

_Move to the country, get a dog._

The idea was starting to work its way under my skin. The crawling itch was quick to consume me. I couldn't possibly focus on work or daily functions.

"I can't stand it another minute! I'm leaving Baker Street; this time for good!" I exclaimed, gathering my most essential belongings.

"Leaving Baker Street?" John asked, incredulously.

"Oh Good, you're here."

"I've been here for several hours!" He seemed annoyed but I had larger matters at hand.

"You were inner monologue-ing," chimed in another, less welcome, voice.

"Go away, you're the reason I'm leaving in the first place."

"Sherlock, I've come to set things straight," the unwelcomed guest explained.

"Ha!" I laughed. "It's a bit late for that!"

"I should have been honest with you and I really should never have struck you. I was just afraid of what you might think of me…" Lestrade said, cowardly.

"Apologies not accepted!" I told him. "I need boxes," I told Mrs. Hudson.

"Sherlock, where could you possibly be going?" she asked.

"I was planning on Crawley Down. They've had a spring of murders of late and they've got the cutest little badgers and bunny rabbits you ever did see." I told young Rosie.

"Can I see the bunnies?" she asked.

"Of course! And there will be loads and loads of chocolates and sweets!" I picked her up and spun her about. "And we'll have lots of fun away from mean old man Lestrade."

"Sherlock," Lestrade grunted.

"Your uncle Sherlock has gone mad. You're not going to Crawley Down," John said, taking Rosie from me.

"But I like chocolates," she pouted.

"See, you're breaking her heart. We could all go!"

"Can't we?" she asked.

"No," John told her.

"Suit yourself," I said, stuffing my pockets with odds and ends. "I really must be going."

"Sherlock you've lost it! I brought Lestrade here to stop this madness," John told me.

"You?" I stopped packing. "You brought him here? After what you said to me?" I looked at Lestrade who was sitting in John's chair. "That's it! I'm for sure leaving!"

Just like that, I was gone on a train to Crawley. To start a new chapter in my life. Farewell Baker Street!


	10. Chapter 10

I couldn't believe he'd gone. I was stunned for days; sure he'd return. I had had a heart to heart with Greg, begging him to make things right with Sherlock. Then Sherlock just left!

Mrs. H had boxed up some things for Sherlock. Apparently he had found a place. It seemed with the string of murders in the area there had been some vacancies as well. I planned a visit, without Rosie, to see how he was getting on.

I was quite nervous that he was seriously planning on staying there for long. I had grown to rely on Sherlock, as crazy as that may sound. He was one of my few supporters. Maybe I should have moved back in with him. It's just so difficult being a single father.

Besides Rosie was still so young and Baker Street isn't exactly child friendly. Sherlock was still up to his wild experiments and fiery explosions and noxious fumes weren't a good thing for a growing girl. (They weren't a good thing for anyone to be honest).

After about a week or so, I drove down to see him. He had taken residence in a detached house with a garden and a large tall wire fence. It wasn't exactly the loveliest of homes as it had a dilapidated shack in the rear and chips of paint coming of its siding.

I knocked on the front door and immediately heard barking from not one but two dogs. I saw a very fat tabby cat peering at me through the bay window. It was joined by a wiry black cat with large yellow eyes. It looked a bit boss eyed. As I was checking to make sure I had the right house, Sherlock opened the door. The two hound dogs bellowed as they lunged at me, knocking me to the ground. A third, quiet and dumpy looking basset hound followed shortly.

"You've got a zoo!" I told Sherlock as his dogs obsessively licked my face. "Where on Earth did you find them all?"

"They're rejected sighthounds, the owner didn't have any use for them so I took them off his hands."

"And the cats?"

"They came with the place," he shrugged. "Down, boys."

The two big dogs continued to lick my face and wag their tails but the basset hound did manage to sit at his command. Sherlock growled in dissatisfaction. I got up and brushed off my trousers. The dogs followed me inside and continued to bombard me, seeking my attention. I wasn't exactly comfortable around dogs and I think they could tell.

We walked into the sitting room which was modeled to look very much like Baker Street with our two chairs seated across from one another.

"Did the previous owners leave the furniture as well?" I asked, taking my seat.

He nodded.

"Were they murdered?"

"Died of natural causes."

"Good," I sighed. "Well… not _good _per se."

Sherlock grabbed the black cat from the window, had a seat in his chair and placed it on his lap. I never pictured him as a cat owner but I could see it then; he was very cat-like himself.

I had so many burning questions but my main one was, "When are you coming home?"

"This is my home now."

He did look happy…

"We miss you."

"Then come live with me, there's plenty of room.

"I'm tempted but no. I've got work, Rosie has school."

"There's a school. There's likely work. It might take some time to settle in but I'm sure you'd find something worthwhile." Sherlock seemed serious. He wasn't as frantic as he had been for the past month. I could see the colour returning to his face and he looked well nourished for once. "Consider it, there's no rush."

Who was this person? Sherlock was notoriously inpatient and didn't take "no" for an answer.

"Are you well?" I asked.

"Never better."

I picked apart the place. He was keeping up with it alright. The animals were in good condition. They hadn't been soiling the floors. The furniture was worn but in good shape. The ceiling wasn't caving in; I couldn't find a reason to not find it inviting or homey.

"Show me about the place," I said, getting up from my chair. "I'd like the grand tour."

"Certainly," He said, eagerly.

He showed me the kitchen which he had yet to turn into a laboratory. The first bedroom which was a bit small on space but had a nice window and could fit a bed and wardrobe. A second bedroom that was a bit more spacious and had a desk. Then the master which was nearest the bathroom which had a tub.

"I'm impressed. It's a fine place you've got," I told him.

"You haven't seen the shed."

"Do I want to see the shed?"

"Sure you do!" He said, cheerfully leading me to the garden.

The shed was all green with one frosted window. It looked like it belonged to a serial killer. The insides were dark and musty. Sherlock pulled a cord on a single light bulb that flooded the room with light.

"Oh my," I said, gathering it all in.

He had turned the place into a crime lab with photos, numbered bags of evidence, and stacks of briefings. He had adorned the bench top with science equipment: microscopes, dissecting scopes, and various glassware. He appeared to be in the middle of an important case.

"Well, what do you think?" he asked.

I toyed with the microscope light. "You've got quite the setup."

"Don't I?"

I was saddened by the whole thing. I secretly had hoped his life was miserable and that he'd want to come home. It hadn't taken him long to settle into his new life and he was better off here, or so it seemed.

"I should go," I told him.

"But you've only just got here."

"I know… I just… I can't stay."

"When will I see you again?"

"I don't know…" I sighed. "Soon, I should think."

"Alright… would you… like… a… hug?"

Felt odd for him to ask but I took him up on his offer anyhow. He gives bloody awful hugs but at least he was trying. I gave him a tight squeeze, let go, then left the rickety shed.

Before I drove off, I gave the house one more look. If this was what he wanted, so be it.


	11. Chapter 11

I had no time to spare. Between the house, the animals, and Gregson, I was a busy man. There was also another double homicide to investigate. This time it was a domestic, open-and-shut sort of case, but required some legwork to gather evidence against the perpetrator and ensure he would be convicted.

Jack and Morgan were barking to be let out and then shortly after, barking to be let in. Their counterpart, Bart didn't partake in the game but insisted on being underfoot while I worked.

The bell chimed but I wasn't expecting anyone. It was followed by a knock and I knew precisely who it was.

"Go away!" I shouted. The dogs barked in unison at the intruder.

"Open up!" he replied.

"Not without a warrant!"

"You arse, open up!" he pounded on the door.

"I'll call the real police!"

"Let me in!"

"So you can hit me?"

"I said I was sorry!"

"I deserve better!"

"I know and I'm sorry."

I opened the door and told the dogs, "Sick em, boys." They instead attacked him with kisses. "Arg, you're terrible guard dogs."

"Good boys," he told them, patting their bellies. "They're awfully sweet, unlike their master."

"Watch it," I warned.

Even Bart joined in the mix, a whore for any form of praise.

"Do they have names?"

"Of course they have names," I scoffed.

He continued to pet the pack of hounds as my anger subsided. He was as stupid as the lot of them.

"Come in, before I change my mind," I told him.

Lestrade followed me inside with the dogs cheerfully in tow.

"Glad to see the place has a bit of furnishings. I imagined the way you came about it you'd be living on bare hardwood."

"I have standards now," I said, scornfully.

"And you haven't turned it into a meth lab; that's good!"

"There's hardly the market for methamphetamines."

"I can never be too sure with you," he teased. I was beginning to regret letting him in.

"I'm with another detective now."

"Toby, I know. He's been keeping me informed."

"Rat bastard…" I cursed.

"He's got you working on some CSI bullocks?" He laughed. "Keeping you busy?"

"More than you were giving me."

"I gave you plenty! You can't deny, we've always had a good thing going."

"Then why don't you trust me?" I blurted out.

"I do…" he lied.

The animals looked on nervously, anticipating a row.

"It's taken me quite some time but I've decided I'm not concerned with _who_ but rather _why_. Especially now," I admitted.

"Why what?" He asked, dumbly.

"You're a complete idiot!" I shouted.

I wanted to throw every book I owned at him. Punch him in the nose. Smack that stupid look off his face. Throw him to the ground. Rough him up real good.

Instead, I grabbed him by the shirt and kissed him on the lips.


	12. Chapter 12

It had been days since Sherlock had texted. While it wasn't unusual, I was still concerned. He was in a faraway place with nobody actively babysitting him. It made me nervous.

I debated phoning his brother, but knowing him he probably already knew of Sherlock's whereabouts. Besides, getting him involved was always a double edged sword.

Sherlock had police work and pets to keep him busy. I just didn't know how long that would last before he fell into something serious. He got so bored so easily; I couldn't imagine Crawley was keeping him too engaged.

"I want twelve cats!" Rosie told me, breaking my concentration.

"Twelve? That's an awful lot."

"And eleventeen dogs, six bunnies…" she counted on her fingers.

"You sound like a hoarder."

"Does Sherlock have a pig?"

"Why would he have a pig?"

"Pigs live in mud," she informed me.

"No, they live in pens and wallow in the mud," I corrected.

"I don't like sheep. One ate my finger," she went on a tangent about farm animals and which ones she liked and didn't like. Then she had a one-sided conversation about things she had found while walking in London. Then it was back to all the animals that she could name. It was like having a mini Sherlock, rambling on about things and ignoring what I had to say.

Sherlock was better at following non-sequitur and winning arguments with Rosie. She was strong willed like her mother. It was a constant problem in nursery school. She'd somehow inherited Sherlock's complete lunacy and was sent to the head teacher's office more often than not. I couldn't see what she had inherited from me other than my good looks. I was never in such trouble at school.

"Did you want to tell me what happened at school today?" I asked, interrupting her monologue.

"Nope!" she responded.

"We'll need to have a talk about it."

"I don't think so."

"You'll need to apologise to the boy."

"Hmmm… no, I don't."

"Rosamund…"

"Daddy…" she mimicked my tone.

"It's not nice to hit people."

"You shoot people."

"I'm a doctor!"

"Yeah and you shoot all the bad guys! Pew, pew! Blam, blam!"

"That is not ok!" I said making her holster her pretend gun. "You can't just hit everyone to solve all your problems."

"Sherlock does… Astrade does… Mummy would have…"

"No… we talk things out…" I lied, placing her on my lap. "That's what grownups do."

"Then why did mummy shoot Sherlock?"

"That's… complicated. Look, the world isn't made up of bad guys and good guys. There's a lot of grey area and good people sometimes do bad things. It isn't your place to punish other children; leave that to the grownups. If someone is bothering-"

"I'm bored!" she flopped over and quit listening to my lecture.

"You need to behave better at school!"

"I want Sherlock," she whined.

"I know you do but with the way you're acting up I don't believe it would be a good idea-"

Rosie began an hour long tirade about how unfair and mean spirited I was. I continued about life, cooking dinner, washing up, being an adult… Living with Sherlock all those years prepared me for parenthood. It was incredibly easy to ignore a small child's whining opposed to a full grown man.

"Eat your pasta," I said after finishing mine.

"I don't like melted cheese."

"Then what's pizza? You're being irrational, eat or go to bed hungry."

"It's too hot."

"We've been sitting here long enough, it's ice cold."

"I want an ice lolly."

I needed Sherlock. I couldn't handle this. I FaceTimed him and after the third try, he picked up.

"She's driving me mad. Tell her what happens to little girls who don't eat."

"I'm at a crime scene," he told me.

"I wanna see!" Rosie pried the mobile from my hands and took it into the other room. I laid my head on the table and sighed. I couldn't keep living like this.

There was too much pressure from school, work, home… I needed a holiday.


	13. Chapter 13

Bart looked at me sorrowfully.

"There, there, old boy," I comforted him. "All will be right as soon as John arrives." He seriously doubted me. His ear drooped even further.

Jack and Morgan were blissfully unaware, fighting over a rawhide. Neither wanted to gnaw on it but neither wanted the other to have it either. If only my worries were so simple.

_Oh the mess you've made,_ as Mrs. Hudson would say. I missed old Hudders… I missed Baker Street, John, Rosie, I even missed Mycroft.

_Why couldn't he have dated Lestrade?_

I rubbed my forehead.

_Then I wouldn't have done such a stupid thing._

John arrived just in time to save me from my thoughts. Rosie was thrilled to bits to be in the presence of so many dogs. She took to Bart immediately, making the other two jealous.

"He's so flopsy!" she exclaimed, playing with his ears. "Why is he so sad? It's ok, doggy." She patted him on the head. She was always so good about reading emotions. I tried to hide my own. "I'm going to name him Mr. Flopsy Plopsy."

"He goes by Bartholomew Roberts," I corrected her.

"And he's Prince Harry." She said pointing to Calico Jack.

"No longer a Prince!" I corrected, yet again.

"And your name is… Bob," she told Sir Henry Morgan.

"No it isn't." Morgan and Jack had difficulties responding to their own names; they didn't need added confusion. Bart would probably answer to anything if food or praise was involved. "Why don't you name the cats?" I had just been calling them Cat 1 and Cat 2.

"She's Mrs. Princess Fluffypants and she's Madame Knickers," she said pointing to the tabby and black cat respectively.

"They're both male cats, but alright," I guessed.

"No they're both girls, because cats are girls and dogs are boys."

"That's not biologically accurate," I told her.

"See what I have to deal with on a daily basis," John told me. "Tell him what else are boys and girls."

"The Army is for boys and the Navy is for girls. Faeries are both, boys and girls."

"Faeries don't exist and there are no gender restrictions in neither the Army nor the Navy. Where are you learning all this?"

"At school," she said.

"You should have her removed from that school at once! They're filling her head with their anti-feminist propaganda!" I told John.

"It's the other children," John insisted.

"Children are stupid. You should never listen to the hateful lies that they spew out of their nasty little heads. Women can do anything and more than any silly man," I took her by the hand and led her to the table so I could draw it out on pen and paper. "You see the males of any given species are genetically inferior to their female counterparts. Their fragility lies deep within their DNA on what's called the Y chromosome. Though some men can have two X chromosomes as well…"

Rosie was kept fascinated by all the pictures while John took a nap on the settee. He was the essence of fragile masculinity so I didn't expect him to appreciate my lecture. In the end, Rosie was satisfied with my explanation and I gave her chocolate biscuits to cement the learning experience as a good one in her mind.

"Can boys marry boys?" She asked, surgically removing the chocolate from the biscuit with her teeth.

"Same-sex marriage is legal in England, Wales, and all of Ireland now."

"Good."

"Very," I replied. "Equal rights are important."

She nodded her head in agreement.

"Good biscuits?" I asked, commenting on the chocolate she had managed to smear all over her face and hands.

She nodded.

"You should wash up before you touch anything." I grabbed a flannel and wetted it in the sink.

John awoke from his nap to see me scrubbing Rosie's face clean.

"How did she manage to get it in her hair?" He asked, coming to help.

"I don't even know… and I was watching her the whole time. You must never feed her."

"Funny, what's that on your lips," John said pointing to my bruise.

"Nothing," I said, covering it up.

"Looks like someone bit you. Were you snogging someone?" He laughed.

"Of course not!"

"Let me see," he said, trying to pull my hand away. I tore my hand from his grip.

"It's nothing!"

"Then why won't you let me see it?"

"I was playing with one of the dogs and they leapt up and hit me in the chin and I bit myself!"

"You're lying," he said, grabbing my wrist once more. He twisted my arm and forced me to expose my fat lip. I sucked my bottom lip in, in defiance. "You've been snogging!"

"I have," I sighed, looking at the floor between my feet.

"Who?"

"Lestrade," I closed my eyes, unable to look at John.

"You're joking!" He laughed.

"It was an accident!" I said, turning away from him.

"Is that why he bit you?"

"It's not funny!" I felt like punching a hole in the wall.

"I thought you fancied Gregson."

"I don't _fancy _anyone," I stormed out of the kitchen and into the bedroom. Slamming the door behind me.

"Sherlock," John knocked lightly.

"Go away!" I told him. I lay on the bed with the covers over my head, willing myself to sleep so I could escape from this nightmare. My mind taunted me with images of Lestrade's embrace. Him grabbing the back of my head and forcing our lips together. The way he squeezed my buttocks with his other hand.

It had only lasted a minute or so but it had felt like an eternity. Admittedly, I felt as if I had melted; my eyes fluttered. My heart pounded just thinking about it.

Yet it meant nothing. It couldn't.


	14. Chapter 14

We spent the night at Sherlock's place. I couldn't leave him alone. Rosie slept with Bartholomew in her bed; both snored loudly into the night. I couldn't sleep after I'd heard the news. I could punt Greg into next year for all the anguish he caused Sherlock over the past few months. He was the reason Sherlock left!

I was so cross, I was steaming at the ears. Sherlock deserved to be treated better. All I could offer was a platonic relationship but it was far better than what Greg was or was not offering.

How dare he? Sherlock wasn't a toy. He couldn't just play with him like that and expect all to be forgiven.

_Men… _

Sherlock was right. We are the inferior of the species. Maybe not all of us… I wished I could magically fix things for Sherlock. Make everything "ok" again. I couldn't even fix things for myself… It was then I decided, I could do one thing to make things right.

I hurried and knocked on Sherlock's door. When I didn't get a response, I opened it slowly and carefully. Sherlock was curled up on the bed, his eyes still open. I sat on the edge of the bed, placed my hand on his ankle and gave it a good squeeze.

"We're moving in."


	15. Chapter 15

John brought with him loads of things_. _I didn't realise how much he had amassed in such a short amount of time and he said he had left a lot behind.

"I don't see this all fitting," I told him as he brought in not one but two large toy chests.

"We'll have to give Rosie the bigger room! The one she's in is barely larger than a cupboard!"

"Does she really need all this?" She had enough clothes to clothe all the children in town. "67 shirts? Who needs 67 shirts?"

"You'd be surprised how quickly she goes through clothes."

Rosie was wearing a stained white shirt and had holes in her leggings.

"And the toys!" She had dolls, a doctor's set, blocks, dress up clothes, play jewelry, her own kitchen, her own vanity, her own house, the chemistry kit that I had bought her… and there was still more coming!

"Yes… she's a bit spoiled," John shrugged it off as if it was no big deal.

"Whatever happened to imagination? Moderation? And what are you training her to be?" I said, pulling out a naked baby doll. "Where's the science and mathematics? All I see is primer for motherhood: for cooking and cleaning! You should be stimulating her mind not forcing her into a pink box!"

"She likes pink!"

"She likes animals and her own creativity, not these social stigmas! She'd be happy with a tin can and a stick!"

"I'm doing my best!" He argued. "And where were you when I was buying all this? That's right! Tucked away in your own world! Not helping me with anything. Now put these toys in the larger room and get over yourself."

I obliged, begrudgingly. Not believing that a child should get a large room when she herself was so tiny.

"We can put the rest of her toys in the garden, I suppose. She's not had a proper outdoor play area before," John said, quickly finding out that space was tight no matter what.

"Why don't we just replace the kitchen with a toy kitchen, the furniture with toy furniture, and we live in a toy house?" I offered.

"Very funny, now help me move the bed."

John insisted on employing me for back breaking labour instead of hiring a mover. In the end we were exhausted and only had managed to get two-thirds of the furniture indoors.

"I'll donate some of her toys. Would that make you happy?" John asked, leaning back in his chair.

Bart took a seat on the foam play sofa and made it his own while Jack and Morgan fought over a plush animal. They didn't have toys of their own and didn't know what to make of all the mess.

"I'd be happy to have some space of my own again."

"Welcome to my life!" John said, throwing a plush pig for the dogs to chase.

We bickered over the silliest of things. What Rosie wore, what she ate, what she played with… John made it impossible to make a single decision.

"She can't play outside in the mud, eating worms, in her underwear! The neighbours are going to call social services!" John shouted.

"She's exploring her environment! It's natural!"

"She's filthy!"

"It'll all wash off," I assured him as he brought the muddy little girl inside. "Where's the fun in being young if you can't do things that are otherwise socially unacceptable?"

"She is 5 years old, she must be taught right from wrong."

John dragged her kicking and screaming to the tub to wash her off. She was livid that he was washing her hair and combing it out. She reminded me of myself at that age. Oh, to be young again…

Growing up was harsh. Other children were cruel. My siblings psychologically tortured me and scarred me for life. I turned out… fine… mostly.

"Sherlock, help," John pleaded.

"You're doing a fine job," I assured him.

He glared at me before smacking me in the shin with a wet flannel. The doorbell chimed.

"I'll get it," I told him; he rolled his eyes.

I opened the door.

"Yuck," I said, coming face to face with my brother.

"Who is it?" shouted John.

"It's one of those damned door-to-door sex workers!"

"Oh, do shut up," Mycroft sneered.

"No unwanted solicitation applies to you, brother dear," I said pointing at the sign beside the door. Even the hounds were uninterested in the unexpected visitor.

"You've been busy, I see," he remarked. Either he meant the state of my living space or my face, either way his comment was unwelcome.

"Very busy, now goodbye!" I tried shutting the door in his face but he stuck his umbrella in the way.

"This isn't a social call, Sherlock. I've come on business. _Family business,_" he said with a look of discontent that we were actually related.

"A text wouldn't suffice?"

"I'm afraid not."

I stepped aside and allowed him in. The fat cat, Queen Fuzzybottoms (or whatever his name was) took an interest in my brother. Probably because he smelt like herring. He rubbed up against Mycroft's leg and Mycroft shooed him away. This made the cat fancy him even more. Mycroft hated most living things and cats were no exception.

"You should have a seat," he told me.

"You can just tell me who's died, I don't need all the theatrics."

"Nobody has died, now have a seat."

I furrowed my brow. "Cancer?"

"Stop guessing, you look like a fool. Your surroundings have lowered your IQ. Think, why would I possibly be here to deliver the news in person?" He waited a moment. "You are _clueless_."

I took a seat. I couldn't think of anything that should be more upsetting than death or terminal illness.

"Our mother and father," he took in a sharp breath. "Are getting a divorce."

"Is that all?" I asked, getting up from my chair. "You came all this way to tell me-"

"There's more, have a seat."

I took a seat, seeing the grave look on his face. I was certain what he was about to tell me was of a fate worse than death.

"There was a mistress," he explained. "And a… _child."_

"You mean…"

Mycroft nodded, solemnly.

"How old?"

"Roughly your age."

"No," I said, refusing to believe there was another one. "There can't be!"

"Calm down."

"No! I will not calm down. Don't you tell me to calm down," I told him, pointing a finger at his big fat nose.

"I knew this was how you would react."

"React to what?" John asked. He was standing in the room, soaking wet from head to toe.

"Nothing!" I told him.

"Our father has had an affair; Sherlock and I have a half brother." he said as if he was reciting the weather report.

"No I don't! You've made up lies before!"

"Sherlock, you're being unreasonable," Mycroft told me.

"Sherlock, you should have a seat," John said, grabbing me by the arm.

"Stop telling me I should have a seat! I'm fine!"

"You're clearly upset," John said.

"I'm not upset!" I told him, yanking my arm away. "You have to ruin everything!" I told Mycroft.

"Sorry to ruin your idea of domestic bliss; I was simply relaying the information," He glowered at me. "Better to hear it from me."

"I hate you," I seethed with rage.

"Sherlock, everything's ok, this doesn't change anything," John said softly.

"No, I can't take it," I told him. "Not another one."

I was shaking. I couldn't see straight.

"He's only after money," Mycroft chimed in. "He's not interested in anything else."

I closed my eyes, I felt uneven on my feet. "What is his name?"

"Sherlock," John said.

"HIS NAME?" I shouted at the top of my lungs.

"Tobias Gregson."


	16. Chapter 16

Sherlock's eyes fluttered open. He pulled at the nasal cannula.

"Sherlock," I said, holding his arms at the wrists. "You've had a fall, you're in hospital."

"No," he groaned. They'd given him fentanyl but had to give him more due to his tolerance so he was a bit belligerent in his stupour.

"You'll be ok, your O2 sat is down so you need to keep the oxygen on and take some deep breaths."

"He knew…" he moaned. "They all knew!" He threw a punch into the air. "I'll kill em! I'll kill em all!"

"Sherlock," I fretted. "Remember what I always say about making blind threats to the police and to your brother."

"He's not my brother," Sherlock pouted.

"I know," I said, patting him on the hand. "It's a bit of a shock."

Sherlock relaxed his head into the pillow and let out a sigh. "I slept with him."

"You what?" I let go of his hand. He didn't say a word after. I shook his arm. His oxygen saturation tanked. "Nurse!" I cried out, I turned up his oxygen tank and watched as his pulse plummeted as well. He started to turn blue around the lips. His pupils were pinpoint and fixed. "For fucks sake, nurse!"

"Don't worry," the nurse said. I grabbed the naloxone from him and administered it myself before starting CPR. The hospital staff pulled me away as they debated intubation and placed the AED.

"Don't you die on me! I'll kill you before I let that happen!" I threatened as they dragged me from the room. They made me sit in the waiting area of the A&E. They gave me tea and promised to deliver updates.

"That bastard," I grimaced, drinking the scalding hot tea.

"Your boyfriend is in good hands," the staff told me.

"He's not my boyfriend…"

"Your husband?"

"Fine," I said shortly. We may as well be partners!

The hours went on. I kept a close eye on the clock. I ignored the vibrations from my mobile. Mycroft was likely frantic that he had to watch my child for more than ten seconds.

They transferred Sherlock to ICU after a successful resuscitation. They had to intubate him but he was at least stable.

"We believe he's aspirated as well," the ICU nurse told me.

"Great," I sighed.

"We'll have to keep an eye on it. Do some imaging."

"I know," I said. They offered more tea as a consolation for our misfortune. I took a cup just so I could have something to do other than stare at my friend. "This is not how I expected my Sunday to go." Sherlock was motionless, his mouth wide open with tubes coming out of him every which way.

"I don't expect you'd think this was how it'd go either. Even with your science of deduction," I told him. I held his clammy hand and sat next to him. "Well… at least you're getting some sleep for once."

I grabbed his hand more firmly. "Please don't do this to me again, I need you."


	17. Chapter 17

"Eh?" Was the first pseudo-word to come out of my mouth. I was heavily drugged yet it didn't feel good. I had been extubated and my throat was dry down to my stomach.

"Sherlock," Mrs. Hudson cooed.

"John?" I coughed and felt my chest rattle.

"He's with Rosie and the dogs. It's all going to be fine," she said, brushing away my hair.

"Did I die… again?"

"Only for a bit. You do have a touch of pneumonia though so they've kept you under," she said.

"For how long?"

"Two weeks," she said.

"Two weeks!" I repeated. I shot up in bed.

"Sherlock, don't get up! You're still attached!"

I tore off the monitors and removed the oxygen. I was about to remove the catheter as well before the doctor burst in.

"Allow me!" she insisted.

"If you must!" I fell back into bed. "God!" I shouted. "You allowed them to keep me sedated for two weeks?!"

"Sherlock, quiet down, there are other people you know," Mrs. Hudson said.

"Oh God!" I wailed, remembering what brought me here in the first place. I hacked up a lung and felt a tightness in my chest. "I've got to get out of here!" I got up from my bed and felt a draft up my backside. I hobbled to the door despite Mrs. Hudson's and the doctor's protest.

I nearly made it halfway down the hall before I saw him.

"You!" I shouted and immediately had another coughing fit. I clutched my chest and clumsily stumbled towards him. When I was within arms reach, I grabbed him by his collar and shook him. "You did this!"

"Eh?" he asked.

"Don't play dumb!" I held onto him for balance.

"I'm here to see how you're doing," he said.

"You _knew."_

"Knew what?"

I looked him square in the eye. "You knew Gregson was my brother!"

"He's what?"

"Ok, you didn't know, because you're an idiot, but you were sleeping with him!"

"Erm…" Lestrade said uncomfortably.

"I knew it!" I said, pushing him away. "How could you?"

"He's your brother?"

"Why didn't you tell me?"

"He told me not to tell anyone! Especially not you. I thought… I don't know… that he was just not out to anyone."

"Of course not! He plans to extort my family for money!"

"Are you sure?"

"No! I'm not," I admitted, frustrated at myself for not seeing it clearly before. "I'm not sure of anything anymore. I need to…"

I took a seat on the floor, it was freezing cold on my bare bottom.

"You think maybe he was just curious to know you? Before he'd go extorting you?"

"Shut up, Lestrade. I need to think about my life thus far."

So my father had an illegitimate child. We were born approximately around the same time, meaning he planned to leave my mother, and stayed with her when he found out about me. Tobias grew up, estranged from the family, lived a seemingly normal life, and recently found out he was a bastard. He used his skills as a detective to investigate his new found family so he could use this information to his advantage if he chose to do so.

"No it doesn't make sense. Too many variables would be left up to chance," I thought out loud.

"He wasn't assigned to that double homicide case in Crawley," Lestrade said. "It's technically outside of his precinct." My head throbbed. Lestrade kneeled on the floor beside me. "He was the one that reached out to me and said we should meet up. I had no idea, Sherlock."

"Why is everyone in my family a psychopath?"

"I don't think he is. I think he was trying to get a feel of the situation."

"By getting a feel of you?" I asked, pushing him away.

"It was one night. That's all."

"He seduced you for information about me and my family."

"He did ask about you… come to think of it… was that all it was?"

"How could you be such an idiot?" I sneered.

"If it makes you feel any better, the sex wasn't all that grand. It was like… well to be frank it was like sleeping with your other brother… not that I have… nor would I want to."

I abhorred the thought.

"Why would you tell him about me?" I placed my head in my hands.

"He's a detective, I trusted him," he shrugged.

It was back to trust again. He'd trust a stranger but not me.

"It is an odd way to go about learning summat. Don't you think? It'd be easier to search Google," Lestrade quipped.

"You're more intimately involved with me. At least, you are _now. _The only way he could get any closer is if he slept with John. Which I know he wouldn't have done because John's at least _loyal _and a far better friend."

"Sorry?"

"You and your sorries. It's too late for that! Don't you see the mess I'm in?"

"Even if Gregson plans on extorting you and taking revenge on your family, he's really got nothing on you."

"Doesn't he though? He's worked himself very close to me and has one piece of vital information that can bring us both down."

"What is that?"


	18. Chapter 18

"Poor Flopsy-Plopsy, he won't eat without Sherlock," Rosie moped along with him.

"He's eaten plenty," I assured her.

"What about Bill and Prince Will?"

"I thought they were Harry and Bob?"

"Bill and Will rhyme, silly." She was right; it was very important that things rhyme at her age.

"Bill and Will have had their fill. Don't worry about them."

"Prin and Madame as well?"

"They're all fat as can be."

"What about you, daddy? Have you been eating?"

I hadn't, but I lied for her sake, "Yes and I've had all my vegetables as well."

"Is Sherlock going to be well again soon?"

"I'm sure if it, sweetheart." I gave her a hug.

"Daddy…"

"Yes, sweetie?"

"Can we get a pig?"

"No," I chuckled.

"We could name him Porky Borky! And he can live in the mud in the garden!"

I was glad to see her in a good mood but I was not getting a pig named _Porky Borky_ or by any other name for that matter. She continued tending to a rather depressed Bartholomew. Though it was difficult to tell if a basset hound is sad or not, given their droopy and depressed features.

The house felt empty without Sherlock's chaotic energy bringing it to life. I missed him terribly. Yet as soon as I saw him awake I wanted to strangle him for having died after telling me he'd had sex.

Who else could it be with but with his half-brother? No wonder he was so distraught to find out the truth. I was quite disturbed to find out myself. By God… I wondered if Mycroft knew about it. That was quite the family affair. If word like that spread, it could jeopordise everyone's careers.

I had to get to Gregson first. How dare he blackmail the British Government!?


	19. Chapter 19

"We have to get to Gregson first. How dare he blackmail Scotland Yard!?" Lestrade was thinking out loud again. I needed another round of IV fluids and for the room to stop spinning.

"I thought you said he wasn't a psychopath?"

"That was before all this!" he shouted.

"You should have thought of that before you went and did… _it!" _

"_It _meaning?"

"Sex, you idiot!"

"How was I supposed to know?"

"Don't tell Sherlock!" I mimicked Gregson.

"He wanted to work with you on a case! I thought he admired your talents and didn't want it to get in the way of things… it sounds stupid now but then…"

"But then you wanted in his pants," I finished for him.

"I'm not some sex fiend!" he argued.

"Tell that to the papers and the magistrate! This is the definition of conflict of interest! I'm basically a sex worker now; hired by the police under the guise of solving murders, but NO I'm secretly being paid to sleep with one of their higher-ups!"

"I didn't pay you for sex, I paid you for consulting work."

"See how that statement holds up in court."

"Oh my God, we're in such trouble. I knew this would happen someday…" he ran his fingers through his hair.

"It's not the first time your cock has gotten you into trouble; it won't be the last."

"I'm going to be ruined by this. How could I let this happen?"

"You, be ruined by this? How can I be a consulting detective when the detective I'm consulting is shoving his cock down my throat?"

"You liked it!"

"It doesn't matter! You destroyed my life!"

"It was purely consensual. You kissed me first!"

"That doesn't imply consent."

"Should I be hearing all this?" Mrs. Hudson asked from the corner.

"I'm sorry, Mrs. Hudson. I'm so worked up… I forgot you was there…" Lestrade said.

"Does John know about all this?" Mrs. Hudson asked.

"No," we said in unison.

"Should I be the one to tell him?" She asked.

"No," we said in unison once more.

"You boys do get in some sticky spots," she commented.

We groaned.


	20. Chapter 20

I arrived at Crawley Police Station, looking for Gregson.

"Oh no, he's with Pevensey. You want Bognor Station."

"I'm sorry, what?" I asked.

"I thought he was back in Lewes," another PCSO said.

"Gregson? Nah, he's not even been out 'ere since January!" yet another police officer chimed in.

"He's with Sussex Police, right?" I asked with uncertainty that I knew anything anymore.

"Yeah but with his line of work he could be anywhere. East, West, South."

"Thank you," I said. They were no help. Gregson could be anywhere in all of Sussex according to them. I was better off finding Greg and asking him to track Gregson down for me.

I sent him a text, hoping he wasn't otherwise occupied.

_I'm already on it. _he responded.

_What do you mean? _I replied.

_I'll explain later. _He said, cryptically.

I started putting two and two together. If he had already known about Gregson then that meant... and having snogged Sherlock, they were more likely to have...

I made my way to the hospital just to be sure. I ran into Mrs. Hudson in the hall. She stopped me from going in.

"I need to see him," I told her.

"John," she said, keeping me at an arm's length.

"I need to see him!" I repeated. "Move aside!"

I made my way past their guard dog and opened the door to find the pair of them.

"John, I can explain," Lestrade said right before I boxed him in the ear.

"Yeah, give me one good reason!" I told him, threatening to box the other one in as well.

"John," Sherlock piped in.

"You stay out of this! I want _him_ to tell _me _why I shouldn't knock his lights out?"

"Ow, it was consensual, I swear it."

"He trusts you, you bloody idiot! How could you do such a thing!" I shoved him for good measure. "You made me think he'd shagged his brother when it was you all along?"

"He shagged Gregson," Sherlock added.

The hospital staff had to pull me off of Greg. I was going to beat the living daylights out of him otherwise.

"Not you again," one of the trauma nurses said.

"He's my best friend!" I shouted as I was dragged from the room by my armpits.

They calmed me down the best they could and got me tea.

"I told them, I should've been the one to tell you," Mrs. Hudson told me while we waited for the police to arrive.

"Great, you knew as well?"

"Oh, John. Why'd you have to go and make a scene?" She looked worried as always.

"He took the piss."

"You can't solve all your problems by hitting them!"

I was starting to see where Rosie got it from.


	21. Chapter 21

"Assaulting a member of the police, though. That's a serious offense."

"I deserved it," Lestrade told them as he wiped the blood out of his right ear.

"He really did a number on you," the Sergeant told him.

"I'd've done the same to him under similar circumstances."

After some thorough convincing, Lestrade had the police drop all charges against John.

"He avoided your nose and teeth; he can't be all that angry," I assured him.

"Shut up," Lestrade growled.

"All I'm saying is he left your pretty little face intact while he tried getting the message through your skull."

"What message was that?"

"Don't fuck with Sherlock Holmes."

"I don't plan on it, ever again."

I felt a bit dejected, "Perhaps once more?"

"Nuh-uh. We're through. You call me an idiot, have your friend bash my head in, and worse still, I'm being threatened with my livelihood? Why would I put myself through all of that?"

"Hmmm, I recall you saying it was the best sex you'd ever had and that you never wanted it to end? I believe you said I'm a _freak_ in between the sheets. And that if you could, you'd take my virginity every night…"

"I was exaggerating."

"No you weren't."

"I'm technically your boss."

"I'm a freelancer."

"I'm your _boss," _he gripped my thigh and I tensed up.

"Shall I call you sir?"

"Ooh, I like the sound of that."

The door opened, interrupting our playful banter.

"Go away!" I groaned.

"It's your brother," the nurse said.

"Double go away!"

"Sherlock, I don't make a point of visiting anyone when they're in the infirmary." Mycroft said through his surgical mask. "Ah, Detective Inspector Lestrade, what a surprise…"

"Don't worry, he's aware of Gregson," I told him.

"So he is…" Mycroft looked him over. I could hear his pocket watch ticking.

"He's just now leaving," I nudged Lestrade in the thigh so he'd take a hint.

"Yes, I've got to go now…" he said robotically.

I rubbed my forehead, willing the agony to come to an end.

"I've been in contact with Tobias Gregson." Mycroft pulled at his gloves nervously. "He isn't interested in cash. He wants something far worse…"

"I knew it wouldn't be enough for him," I sighed.

"He wants to be… _part of the family."_

"Who would want _that_?"

"I know…"

"But he's been investigating us! He even slept with Lestrade for intel!"

"I know…" Mycroft shuddered.

"It's unbelievable! If he knows so much about us, he'd never want to be related!"

"I haven't the slightest idea what compels people to think blood is thicker; yet here we are!"

Here we were indeed.


	22. Chapter 22

"Sherlock!" Rosie flew off the back of the chair and thankfully Sherlock was quick enough to catch her in midair.

"I told you not to tackle him! He's still not well!" I scolded her.

"I lost a tooth!" she showed him her missing incisor and ignored me like always.

"That's nice," he said, flatly.

"What's a matter?" she asked, analysing him.

"Give him some space," I told her.

"You look flopsy…"

Sherlock looked like he was on the verge of tears. I took Rosie from him and allowed him to adjust to his surroundings.

"Go play," I told Rosie and she obeyed for once.

Sherlock sunk into his chair. His face was pale, his hands shaking. He looked as if the world had taken its toll on him.

"What can I do?" I asked him.

He shook his head. It pained me to see him feeling like this.

Sherlock was quiet and reserved for several days. It felt like a funeral procession in the home. Even the hounds were gloomy.

Rosie brought Sherlock an imaginary cuppa and he drank it without complaint. He even let her place a tiara on his head and clip on earrings. Under normal circumstances, I would have watched her doll him up with lipstick but I thought it was in ill taste.

"Rosie, quit torturing your poor uncle."

"But he's so so pretty!" She said placing the palms of her hands on his cheeks and patting his cheekbones.

"Yes, he looks quite lovely."

"I have to find him a dress for the ball!" Rosie scampered out of the room to search her through her wardrobe.

"Would you prefer some real tea?" I offered.

"I don't mind. It's 0 calories," he said, sipping the empty cup.

I laughed; it felt good to laugh.

"Oh, what are we going to do?" I sighed, rubbing my face with my hands. "We moved out here because of that twisted man and we've gone and found another!"

"I don't believe I can face Gregson…"

"We could move… far away from the pair of them. Forget everything and everyone! Just the two of us, and Rosie of course," I could even picture a bigger home with room to grow. Carefree and away from the hustle and bustle. We'd have no connections; nothing to tie us down. We could live undercover… like Mary…

"We mustn't hide from our problems," Sherlock said, bursting my bubble.

"Fine, I'll start with killing Lestrade. Do what you will with Gregson."

"I'll handle Lestrade. You and I will work on Gregson together. Deal?"

"Don't fall for his charm and good looks. Lestrade is bad news! Keep your relationship professional!"

"I will," he lied.

"I mean it. I know his sort."

"I have no intentions of being involved with Lestrade in that way."


	23. Chapter 23

I had no intentions of being physically involved with Lestrade. Damn it all. Damn it all. It was as if I was working out every one of my frustrations out on him.

"Watch it!" He shouted. "You're going to break my jaw!"

I let out a breath. "Choke on it," I told him.

"I knew you were likely into kinky shit but are you trying to kill me?"

"You're talking," I reminded him.

"It's important we keep open communications… I don't want a repeat of last time…"

"Fine communicate, but shut up!"

We moved onto anal. My mind was on fire; my body surged with electricity. I could go like this for hours.

"Are you nearly finished?" He asked, panting for breath.

I smothered his face with a pillow and kept at it.

"Damnit, I've lost my stride. Don't look at me!"

"I've got a bloody pillow over my head! How am I supposed to be looking at anything?" He asked.

"We'll need to start over, turn over, lie down in a prone position." I removed the pillow from his face and he began to speak. "Just do it!"

He rolled over, I got on top of him, and we continued. My heart pounded in my chest and in my ears. My blood coursed through my veins. I could feel it tingling in my groin. I couldn't form coherent thoughts. It was like ecstasy.

I felt my soul leave my body. I was one with the universe. There was nothing left of me but pulsations. I was spent.

"Again," I moaned, collapsing onto his sweaty backside.

"You're crazy."

"I want to be free of suffering and desire. I want to lose all sense of self. To die and be reborn."

"You want me to fuck your brains out?"

"Please," I begged.

I must have blacked out because next thing I knew I was in the shower being scrubbed clean of my sins.

"Huh-uh-uh," I said, unable to form words.

"Now rinse," he said, handing me the shower head.

"Again," I demanded.

"You need rest."

"I'll sleep when I'm dead."

I was an uncoordinated mess but I got it up again and we had at it until I was unconscious once more.

I woke up in his bed, all too aware of my body and the soreness deep in my bones. I couldn't move, everything hurt. I was disappointed to come crashing down from my high.

Somehow Lestrade was up and moving. He'd had years more experience than I had.

"Come on, I'll drive you home," he said, patting me on the bottom.

"Don't touch me," I told him.

"It's late, we're already in trouble."

"You're in trouble. I'm irreproachable. Just a young naive fool. I've fallen victim to your lust," I threw an arm over my face and pretended to faint.

"Put your clothes on." He threw my outfit at me in a crumpled up heap.

"I'm just another notch in the bedpost," I complained but Lestrade paid me no mind. He was already dressed. "You don't care…"

"Of course I care! Don't act like this…"

"Like you're using me? Because you are."

"I have nothing but the deepest respect for you. You're an incredible man. I just wish we weren't who we were; then I could see us being more together."

"Who says that I want to be with you?"

"What do you want from me?" He asked, exasperated. "I'd give anything to be with you but I can't."

I ran my fingers along the headboard. "See, I'm just a toy."

"Just tell me what you want!"

"I want nothing to do with you," I told him.

"You're like a bloody cat! I give you everything I have and yet you still bite back!"

"You would rather be with Gregson."

"He means nothing to me," Lestrade insisted.

"He's plotting my demise…"

"Not everyone is out to get you."

"Financial ruin isn't enough for him. He wants to tear my life apart from the inside. He'll turn everyone against me. You, John, Mycroft…" I didn't really care if he'd turned Mycroft against me seeing as he already wasn't my biggest fan.

"You've had your run in with baddies your whole life. Gregson just doesn't fit the bill."

"He has the upper hand but I'm ken to his game."

"I hate to say this but you're paranoid," Lestrade said, gripping me firmly by the shoulder.

"I'll play along, plan my course of attack, and when he sweeps the rug out from under me, I'll pounce!"

"Your family can't all be evil."


	24. Chapter 24

Sherlock spent most of the afternoon diagramming why his family was pure evil.

"They've all been mad with power. The whole lot of them. They distort your mind into believing their intentions are good, they gather allies, turning everyone against you, and then they slaughter everyone like sheep when they're done with them," he told me.

"Couldn't he just be in search of family? Perhaps he didn't have much of one growing up."

"He's been getting inside my head, toying with my emotions. Drawing me near so he can break me! I won't allow it!"

"Then sever your ties and be done with it. You can choose your family."

"What do you mean? I can't choose my own bloodline."

"No, but it doesn't mean you have to associate with any of them. Mrs. Hudson, Molly, me, we're like family to you. We'll keep you safe."

"I'm in over my head," he admitted, solemnly. "I can't face Gregson alone."

"And you don't have to. I'll be there to support you, every step of the way. And if he's a madman, hell bent on destroying you, we'll take him on together."

"The damage is already done…" he sighed. "I'm not the man I once was."

"That's not true, you're still as sharp as a whip. You just need a good case to take your mind off things."

There'd been another double homicide in the area. They were becoming all too common. The crime rate had more than tripled that year due to all of the multiple killings. It was an odd pattern; seemingly unrelated, but murders would keep popping up in pairs. It was too strange to be a coincidence. The town blamed it all on drugs but I wasn't certain that was all there was at hand. It had felt orchestrated.

But who could their maestro be?


	25. Chapter 25

"Gregson."

"Holmes."

I looked my mortal enemy square in the eye. He wasn't at all timid. His hair was dark brown and wavy like mine. His cheekbones were prominent and pointed like mine. His fingers, face, and feet were all long, giving him a gangly appearance. He was lean yet had some muscle to him. It was infuriating that I hadn't seen his Holmesian traits before.

"There's work to be done," he reminded me, revealing the scene behind the privacy barriers. "They've arrested a fifteen year old with connections to the crime. Another two bodies have washed up on shore in the span of a week. There's a growing uncertainty if all these double homicides have been crimes of opportunity or if we'll dealing with some sort of elaborate crime circle."

"They've been poisoned again…" I remarked.

"Surely not with the same poison as before and not all of the victims have been poisoned so it doesn't appear to be their call-sign."

"No but it does suggest a ritual." I leaned down to have a better look and pulled out my magnifying glass to examine the pattern of bruising on their skin. "The victims have all been given the same tea; either laced with industrial herbicides or a paralytic agent. Then they are put to rest before they are mutilated."

"Are the victims aware that they're ingesting the lethal toxins?"

"I have reason to suspect it's all part of a twisted game and we'll need to be in on it if we want to take them down."


	26. Chapter 26

Sherlock remained secretive about his latest caseload. I thought it was good that he was working with Gregson again and keeping an open line of communication. I didn't mind him seeing Lestrade as long as their interactions were brief and they kept things professional. He was in a better mood when he was consulting, even if it was keeping him quiet.

Rosie played along with her microscope as well, preparing slides and staying busy. I was the only one in the house without something to keep me occupied.

I chatted with Mrs. Hudson, keeping her informed.

"Yeah he's on a big case. He's even consulting his half-brother. Yeah… looks like things are looking up for them," I told her over the phone.

"If only you two were back at Baker Street together. The place is so empty with you gone."

"Once this is all sorted, who knows? I'm not sure this house is all it's cracked up to be. Sherlock's just about as unstable here as he was back in London. He just can't seem to shake his past… If only I could convince him to see a talk therapist. Might do him some good to open up to someone. Here he is, I've got to go. Bye now!" I ended the phone call.

The dogs looked on excitedly as if they were preparing for a hunt. I couldn't help but join them in their excitement at the prospects of going out together.

"I need to see Lestrade; I'll be home late."

"But you're in the middle of a case!" I said, dejectedly.

"And I'm not thinking clearly."

"Are you sure it's nothing I can help you with?"

He grabbed his coat off the hook. He looked at me sullenly.

"You're not behaving like yourself," I warned him. "The Sherlock I know would resist temptation. He'll only lead you astray. You're pointing yourself in the wrong direction."

"I know."


	27. Chapter 27

I needed something to take the edge off. It was a vicious cycle. The game was on; I had all the evidence at my fingertips and I could feel it all slipping away. It was just outside my grasp; I could almost taste it.

Lestrade ejaculated into my mouth.

"This is pointless," I spat.

"I'm sorry," he apologised, putting himself back into his trousers. "Would you like the same?"

"Hold me."

"Uh, ok," he said, dumbly.

We lay in bed and I rested my head on his chest. I listened to his heart rate which hovered between 70-80bpm. He stroked my hair gently.

"Tighter," I told him; he held me tightly in his arms. I wanted it to hurt until I felt numb. "I can still _feel. _I need to be in a state of absolute apathy."

"This isn't right," he said, letting go of me suddenly. I felt as if I was torn from the ground.

"Don't stop!"

"I've got feelings, you know."

"I'm painfully aware and I don't care about your _feelings_."

"No, I think you do care or else you wouldn't be coming back round so often. Maybe you don't pay much mind to my feelings but you do care about us. Am I right?"

"I only care about my work." I buried my face in his chest and breathed in his scent of tobacco and imperial leather. It was a smell I associated with mystery and intrigue. "You meet my primal needs. No more; no less."

"I care about you." He was sulking. I needed him to tear me apart and put me back together again. "I can't tell if I'm doing you more harm than good."

"You're killing me."

"You are such a drama queen. Why'd you come round in the first place?"

"I lack focus."

"You need a proper distraction."

"No, I need discipline. I can't have the thought of you weighing on my mind. I thought I could rid myself of this stupidity shadowing my better judgment. This was a terrible idea. I'm better off without you."

"So that's it then?"

I looked at his face. It was a mistake. He was a mistake. We were back at it again within minutes.

I refused to believe I was this far gone. Wrapped up in the melodramatics of a relationship. I didn't need this form of companionship. There had to be a reason for my behaviour. What in my life was requiring supplementation? What could it be that I was lacking?

_A father figure?_

I pushed Lestrade's face away from mine.

"Stop it, you disgust me."

"Honestly, I'm about five seconds away from-"

"I can't stand the sight of you, get away from me."

He obeyed my command and pulled out.

"I don't understand. One moment you're enjoying it… the next you can't be in the same room as me," he explained.

"I should have never gotten tangled up in this mess. It's far worse than being involved with cocaine. There is no seven-percent solution."

"Are you addicted?" He asked, rather proudly.

I wanted to smack the smug look off his face. Remove his boyish good looks. Mess-up his perfect teeth. Instead, I rustled his hair.

"I despise you," I told him.

"I know it." he replied and we were back at it again.


	28. Chapter 28

"I just don't see what he sees in him," I confided in Bartholomew. He replied with a heavy sigh. "I'm not saying it should be me in his place but given Greg's long list of failed lovers, I fear Sherlock will just be another victim of a serial romance."

Bartholomew looked at me as if to say, "_You're worried that Greg is far too similar to yourself and that if you were involved with Sherlock in such a way you'd come up with reason to end it."_

"Am I projecting?" I asked Bartholomew and before he could respond, Rosie entered the room.

"I've had a bad dream."

"You haven't been asleep long enough to dream." I had only just sent her to bed five minutes prior.

"Where's Sherlock?"

I didn't know precisely how to answer. "He's on a case." That sounded so wrong.

"Why's he gone without you?"

Sherlock arrived home just in time for me not to have to suffer through Rosie's interrogation but he was so self absorbed that he wouldn't put Rosie back to bed. By the time I had gotten her to bed a second time, I was severely cross.

"You know, most people would binge watch a show on Netflix but, oh no! You have to be off having tantric sex with the police!"

"People's lives are at stake!" He argued.

"That is my point exactly! There's no time for this nonsense. You don't even know Lestrade's first name! Why should you two even be together? It doesn't make a lick of sense!"

Sherlock just went about ignoring me but I wasn't about to give up being heard.

"Last I checked it's Holmes and Watson not Holmes and _Lestrade_."

"You're jealous," he noted.

"Ever since he's come out of the closet you've been acting so bizarre."

"John, if you haven't noticed: I'm gay."

"But you're not though. You don't like men. You don't like anyone!"

"I like you," he said.

"But you don't _like_ like me. There's a difference."

He remained silent.

"We work together because the feelings between us are mutual," I told him. "We don't require physical intimacy for us to function as a pair. Why can't you be satisfied with what we have? It's never bothered you before… or has it?" I asked.

Silence.

"Are you acting out because of us?" I asked, not quite sure I was ready for the answer.

"No, it's not that."

"Then what is it?"

"A lottery…"

"A what?"

"A lottery, John. Don't you see it? And not one by chance either…"

Sherlock pulled out a pen and paper. "The contestants buy their way into the scheme, not with money but with ritual sacrifice."

"I don't follow…"

"It's a pyramid scheme, only instead of recruiting another two of their friends, they kill off two people." He drew out a triangle on the paper. "At each level they're paid a set amount and the more sacrifices they have-"

"The more they'd be paid? But where does the lottery come into play?"

"They'd still need volunteers to act out the crimes. While others continue to live out life in the lap of luxury, some are chosen to commit the murders."

"So you _buy _your way in by choosing two people to be killed. Then you get to keep the flow of money unless you're called upon. The more people there are involved, the less likely it is that you'd be the one to have to carry out a murder yourself… who would do such a thing?"

"Someone who benefits from death. Who would get paid directly for a person's untimely demise?"

"A coffin maker?" I guessed.

"Or rather, an undertaker. One who's preparing his own bodies for undertaking."


	29. Chapter 29

"Damn kettle! You've got one job!" Lestrade shouted, smacking the office's electric kettle. "Work!"

I was growing rather impatient with his distraction.

"I need your support on this. Gregson won't listen."

"How about we have dinner together? We'll talk things over then," he proposed.

"Disgusting, no! Haven't you been listening? There's a murder syndicate lead by a nefarious undertaker and we have to take him out before he disposes of another pair of victims!"

"I'd offer you tea," he turned to the kettle and shouted, "if I had any!"

"Tea won't solve this case. I require police involvement."

"You don't have proper evidence," Lestrade sighed. "They need reason to investigate. So far all you've got is a hunch."

"My word ought to be enough to produce a warrant."

"Then make your half-brother believe there's some form of wrongdoing at hand."

"Frame the undertaker for his own murders? I like where you're heading…"

"No? That's not what I'm saying!"

"If the blood was on his own hands; then they'd be forced to investigate and would unearth his other crimes."

"Or, reason with Gregson and point him in the right direction. There's no need for people to die over your lacking ability to face your own problems." Lestrade, while woefully stupid, was right for once.

"If you'd take on the case yourself…"

"It's outside of my jurisdiction."

"If there were to be a double homicide attached to the undertaker here in London…" I thought out loud.

"More innocent people would be dead," he added. "His record is spotless. I don't know what else to say. You'd have to convince the police to setup a sting operation."

"Fine, I'll go undercover but it would be far more convenient to have him arrested outright."

"Still on for dinner?"

"No I'll skip dinner but I will still have the intercourse. I've come all this way; might as well."

"I thought you found me appalling."

"I still do. I'd get it elsewhere if I wanted."

"That's assuring. You sure you don't want to try it with someone else? Not many people would be willing to be called stupid and ugly-"

"I never said you were ugly," I reminded him.

"Are you sure John's not interested in having you?"

"Why are you looking to pass me on to someone else?"

"You'd see the good thing you have going for you and would come crawling back like you always do. It happens every time you run off with another detective. I'm the one that puts up with you, is at your beck and call, picks up the pieces when things need fixed… I don't just tolerate you, I love you."


End file.
